The Allocation of Roles
by NeverMineToHold
Summary: Theirs is a peculiar friendship... Ben & Dan; gen


Title: "The Allocation of Roles"

Status: OneShot

Fandom: 03:10 To Yuma

Characters/Pairing: Ben Wade & Dan Evans, Charlie Prince, William Evans

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.

Rating: T

Genre: Alternative Universe – Canon Divergence, friendship, fix-it

Warnings: none

Summary: Theirs is a peculiar friendship...

AN: Thank you to my beta, shadownashira! You're the best :)

The Allocation of Roles

Silence settled over Contention as the dust cleared away, revealing the glint of drawn revolvers and the bodies of Ben Wade's outfit.

Charlie Prince twirled his Schofields, eyes searching the empty street, before he turned to face his boss. Ben was kneeling at the rancher's side, checking for a pulse, then exit wounds, and something dark curled in the pit of Charlie's stomach as his boss sighed with relief.

Only a blind man wouldn't have seen that Ben had made no move to overpower Evans, had run and jumped and ducked along nicely, all on his own accord, tried to reach that damn train that would bring him closer to the noose.

Like green-eyed women, sometimes Ben Wade happened upon a man who struck his fancy, who impressed him for reasons Charlie could never quite fathom, and he would try to manipulate him, checking for chinks in the armor, before growing bored or being disappointed, but always moving on.

Going along with that was a choice Charlie made every single damn time, 'cause it meant staying alive. He had not a speck of doubt that Ben would have gunned him down together with the rest of the outfit, had Charlie been stupid enough to shoot. There had been no mistaking that murderous look when the rancher had toppled down.

"Looks like we'll be doing over," Ben commented, looking up at him as he tried to apply pressure to the shoulder wound, which wasn't easily done, what with his hands still in cuffs. "Thank you, Charlie."

That ugly feeling of jealousy simmered down to a burn, gnawing at his guts. Whether Dan Evans lived or died, he would never be the kind of man to ride alongside Ben Wade.

"Whatever you say goes, boss," Charlie stated and holstered his revolvers. "Let's get the rancher to the doc."

XXX

Dan woke to the dull throbbing of a limb that was no longer attached to his body and the keen counterpoint of fresh wounds. He felt the pressure of bandages wrapped around his shoulder and calf. The weight of his immobilized arm, resting on his empty stomach, was nauseating.

He kept his eyes closed and breathing even as the world seemed to spin away, leaving him with a sense of dread, the knowledge that something wasn't quite right.

Dan remembered reaching the train, thanks to the cover the cows had provided, set loose and spurred on by the crack of William's rifle. Damn the boy for disobeying him, but all he felt was a father's pride. Wade had boarded the first car - "Well, you did it, Dan." - and the sort of peace that went with one's acceptance of death had come over Dan, watching as Wade turned and stepped into the cage to be shut in. Then the impact of a bullet that tore through his flesh and splintered bone.

After that, he had only vague recollections: of movement, the lurch and jolt of being carried, the grip of strong hands and the smell of blood as numbness spread through his body. He remembered William's voice, low and urgent, while a stranger shouted, the click of a cocked revolver. Then nothing but pain, being held down, until the frantic shapes around him and the dim room had faded into blessed darkness.

Dan swallowed dryly as the world stopped spinning and tried to reorient himself. He felt starched linen on his skin, sewing cotton underneath his fingertips; the sheets had been a monogrammed parting gift from Alice's mother. A faint trace of her perfume lingered in the air, nearly drowned out by sickness, cows and timber, while Alice hummed and rummaged around in the kitchen.

The tension seeped out of him as much as the pain would allow. No matter what had happened, William and Dan had seen it through, put Wade on that train and somehow made it home. That knowledge was enough for now. He was not going to question a miracle once given.

Perhaps the Marshal and his men had found the courage to take action after all or -

Dan Evans opened his eyes to find Ben Wade sitting at his marital bed in the relaxed slouch of someone right at home, his pencil moving over paper with the softest scratch.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Ben Wade greeted him.

XXX

Ben set his sketchbook aside and reached for a waiting glass of water. Dan's dumbfounded silence amused him, but it was only a matter of time before the rancher would shake it off, just like he had the fever that had kept him under for more than a week.

Plenty of time to rebuild the burned down barn with hired hands from Mexico, fill its storage with feed and repay the Evans' debt, but he figured that surprise wasn't one Dan was ready for quite yet.

Dan didn't resist as Ben helped him into a sitting position, propped up against all the pillows Alice had hoarded for the occasion, touch mindful of his injuries. Ben, seeing his shaking, kept silent but his hand in place, to prevent Dan from spilling the liquid all over himself.

Dan coughed slightly as Ben sat back down and resumed his drawings, not bothered by a look that wanted to be steady and piercing, but only managed woozy. "You should be -"

"Swinging in the breeze like a pendulum?" Ben suggested.

He ignored the grimace his blunt statement provoked and smirked. After a moment, the memories of their mutual confession came back and Dan's lips twitched. Now that he knew that Ben had escaped from Yuma prison twice over they could make it their own private joke.

"Funny how that goes," Ben mused, shading the hollows under Dan's eyes with even and short strokes. "After you were shot and my outfit taken care of, Mr. Butterfield kindly agreed that saving your life took priority." He used his fingertip to carefully smudge the graphite. "I'm sure William will be delighted to tell you all the juicy details."

Dan scowled darkly, probably wondering at the implications of that statement, but Ben beat him to the punch, "Don't worry, Dan. You get to put me on a train. Just not that one."

Silence settled over the room, only broken by the sounds of his sketching, the clatter of a frying pan set on the stove and the cattle outside. Ben took in Dan's pensive posture, rooted in more than physical discomfort, most like, then focused back on the portrayal.

"Worried you'll miss out on your thousand bucks?" he inquired casually.

Dan shook his head, a careful motion, slowed down by the pull of injured muscles and stitched skin; sweat made his hair stick to his temples. "No."

Ben hummed thoughtfully. "Then maybe about me stealing away your lovely wife?"

Dan met his gaze straight on. "No."

"What about corrupting your sons?"

That earned him a smile and the tension between them evaporated, just like Ben had hoped for. Being alive now was not something Dan had planned for, but that didn't mean that anything had changed between them. He would be gone soon, after all, one way or the other. It was for the best.

"No."

"But I take it we're still not friends," Ben said, with the most forlorn expression he could muster.

Dan slowly shifted his way down the mountain of pillows, out of the sunlight spilling in from the window, making a disorderly mess of them. He settled back underneath the covers with a soft sigh. His eyes closed, and Ben had to work quickly to catch this moment, where looming sleep smoothed out many a line on the rancher's worn face.

"Maybe there is hope for us yet," Dan muttered.

Ben chuckled as he bent over to catch an embroidered cushion before it could slip off the bed. He tossed it onto the commode. "Go back to sleep, Dan."

XXX

Ben Wade had been put on a train to Yuma prison on Wednesday no week later, with Charlie Prince nowhere to be found but surely close enough by to watch, holding on to Wade's horse, hat and the Hand of God.

Dan had done his duty in silence, William and Mark at his side and Pinkerton's at his back, while Butterfield's empty reassurances were blown away with the wind, like the dust down Contention's main road, where the townsfolk stood and stared.

Dan looked after the train until its steam faded into the clouds and its bulk vanished beyond the horizon, before limping back to his horse, never taking the crutches Mark offered him.

Maybe he was stubborn. Just a little bit.

XXX

William folded Thursday's newspaper so that the headline was plain to see before putting it on the tabletop, careful to keep its edge away from the butter crock.

He ignored Mark's curious glance and bit into his buttered toast with orange preserve, relishing in the bitter taste that helped keep his grin at bay. His father, of course, hid his behind a stern scowl.

It felt conspiratorial and not half as wrong as it ought.

["_The language of friendship is not words but meanings._" ~ Henry David Thoreau]

The End

R&R


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